


Paler than Grass

by the_sound_of_inevitability



Series: Prickle and Spark [1]
Category: Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Choking, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pearl Necklace, Smut, consider this a deleted scene, in which Johnny and Daniel get off on Johnny being a bully, no beta we die like men, up to a point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sound_of_inevitability/pseuds/the_sound_of_inevitability
Summary: It’s just the two of them. He told himself he didn’t need an entourage to hand over the damn form, that he was going to keep his cool.His cool lasted all of two seconds under LaRusso’s gaze.But then, it never lasts. Whenever he sees LaRusso it’s like an electric charge.Inspired by the deleted scene of Daniel asking Johnny why he likes intimidation. Canon compliant... until it isn't.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: Prickle and Spark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211945
Comments: 27
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The aim of the fic is not to justify bullying or excuse it as a symptom of internalised homophobia, I wrote only to entertain and scratch my own Lawrusso itch.

It’s just the two of them. He told himself he didn’t need an entourage to hand over the damn form, that he was going to keep his cool.

His cool lasted all of two seconds under LaRusso’s gaze. 

But then, it never lasts. Whenever he sees LaRusso it’s like an electric charge. It galvanises him to movement.

To violence.

The papers are clutched in LaRusso’s hands - tiny, compared to Johnny’s, the thought crosses his mind that holding his hand would be like holding Ali’s - and he’s looking up at him half-bored, half-afraid.

“Can I ask you a question?” LaRusso’s shoulders come up, like the question is bursting out of him, “What pleasure do you get from all this?”

“What?” Johnny can’t believe his ears. The word ‘pleasure’ reverberates around his mind.

“The intimidation,” he replies, eyes laughing. “You know what I’m talking about. We both know you can kick my ass seven ways to Sunday, so why do you still bother?”

He’s not clever or quick enough to come up with a lie, and there’s no one around, so Johnny tells the truth.

“Maybe because I like it,” he says. LaRusso pulls back, and Johnny follows, not allowing him to get any breathing room. He wants LaRusso to suffocate, like he suffocates. “Something wrong with that?”

He wants him to say it, wants LaRusso tell him just how wrong this all is. Tell Johnny there’s something wrong with him. Tell him to leave him alone.

LaRusso breathes a laugh. “You like it,” he repeats, “How about that?”

Johnny doesn’t know what the fuck LaRusso means, but the way the kid is smirking at him sends a tingle up his spine. He steps away, and Johnny follows, until LaRusso’s back hits the locker. He has no idea why he can’t just let it go, why he has to get up in the guy’s space. There’s a weird feeling in his mouth, like he needs to bite into something.

LaRusso’s eyes are wide; no longer bored, no longer afraid. He’s breathing heavily; Johnny can see his skinny chest rising and falling quickly under his too-big shirt. There’s flesh on display at his neck, where the neckline of his tank top is framed by his shirt collar, and Johnny finds himself staring at the deep, rich colour of LaRusso’s skin.

“What if I like it too?”

Johnny can’t breathe. His heart is racing. The thrumming sensation under his skin is building, and his hand comes out automatically. The heel of his palm slams into the locker at the side of LaRusso’s head, and he flinches. 

LaRusso opens his mouth to say something else, and the bell rings. The sound rubs against Johnny’s nerves like acid. 

He snarls. Thumps the locker again. And walks away.


	2. Chapter 2

LaRusso can’t get his gi tied. The Cobras are wearing theirs like a second skin, a skin they will never shed, and LaRusso can’t get his gi tied.

Johnny stops at the edge of the changing area, tries to calm his rapid pulse by leaning against the fence. He tries to pretend that the sight of LaRusso partially clothed isn’t affecting him. It makes him look impossibly smaller. The sight certainly does nothing for the others. Dutch gets in LaRusso’s face, squeezing in a last little bit of psychological warfare - emphasis on the psycho - before the tournament starts.

LaRusso is quick to react. Like always. He and Dutch engage, locked into fighting positions, and his hands come up in defense. His fingertips are bent at the top knuckle like he's gripping the side of a mountain. The sides of his gi flap open, his hand blocking the small expanse of his chest, his olive skin, and Johnny looks away just as the referee arrives.

“Hey, hey! Save it for the ring. Come on.”

He’s the first one down the corridor, already walking off. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. There are pre-fight jitters, sure, but this is something else. This is fire and electricity under his skin. This is a semi-blindness, broken only by the mental image of LaRusso’s bare skin, of his shining eyes. If someone gave Johnny Lawrence fifty thousand dollars right now he couldn’t tell them his own mother’s name. 

The other Cobras are still heckling LaRusso, and Johnny takes advantage of their distraction to throw his headband onto the floor, under a bench on his left.

“He’s not going to know what hit him,” Tommy giggles as the others draw level. Bobby’s hand finds Johnny’s shoulder, squeezes.

“See you in the final, man,” he says, and Johnny stops.

“My headband,” he mumbles, makes a show of patting himself down as if there’s anywhere in his pocketless gi it can be, “I’ll meet you guys out on the floor.”

They wave him off, not even slowing, and Johnny heads back down the aisle. He picks up his headband from where he threw it and keeps going.

Back to LaRusso.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... this got hella explicit. Actually, way more explicit than I planned!

When he turns the corner, LaRusso is sitting on the bench with his face buried in his hands. At Johnny’s footsteps, he looks up, and his lip curls. 

“Jesus Christ, man,” LaRusso says, “You back for more already?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s not sure if he can. The air is cool and clammy. LaRusso’s gi is still hanging open. Johnny tosses his headband onto the physio bed in the middle of the room.

He takes one step, then another, on feet that feel suddenly numb. Every step he takes bridges a chasm, spans a thousand miles, until he's standing nearly toe to toe with LaRusso, who just watches him come with those big doe eyes, wide and brown, neither bored nor afraid.

The thrumming under Johnny's skin increases, and he feels the easy lure of violence, the urge to shout and tear and hit until it stops. Until it all stops.

"Get up," he says, looking down at the other boy. 

An eyebrow lifts, another challenge, because LaRusso can’t just do as he’s fucking told. Johnny’s heart is beating at a furious pace, part of him is afraid the other boy can hear it, and he clenches his fists. 

LaRusso holds his gaze, crosses his arms. His mouth hardens. He juts his chin out in an almost cartoonish gesture of stubbornness. “And what if I don’t?”

It’s like a flag to a bull. Johnny moves like lightning, grabbing huge fistfuls of LaRusso’s gi, and hauls him to his feet. The motion pulls the sides of the gi apart, revealing even more of LaRusso’s chest, and his hands slam into Johnny to push him back except all Johnny feels is LaRusso’s palms on his chest where the neckline of his own gi gapes. Hands on his chest, where they can surely feel the pounding of his heart. Skin against skin.

Johnny feels one step away from madness. LaRusso is practically topless, and the sight of his chest, his tiny body, is driving him insane. His jaw aches.

“Johnny,” LaRusso says, voice hard, and whatever he was going to say next is quickly cut off when Johnny ducks down to place his mouth against his collarbone.

He doesn’t think he’s thought about it, would never admit to thinking about LaRusso as anything other than a particularly mouthy punching bag, but the primary thought in his mind - if Johnny can be said to be thinking anything at this moment - is  _ I knew it _ . LaRusso’s skin is warm, and soft, and the small square Johnny can feel under his lips isn’t enough. Before he knows it, he’s mouthing his way up, finding the hollow at his throat and dipping his tongue in, tasting the slight tang of sweat. His hold on LaRusso’s gi loosens as he nudges his nose under the collar, tracing the curve of LaRusso’s neck with open-mouthed kisses. 

LaRusso exhales heavily, a noise that’s almost a whine, and the pressure of his hands against Johnny’s chest increases ever so slightly before disappearing. The loss of contact is almost enough to bring Johnny back to his senses, but then hands come to the back of his neck, fingers thread through his hair, and whatever modicum of self-control he thought he had blows away like a cobweb. 

"Don't fucking stop," LaRusso mutters, and it’s as if a weight suddenly lifts from Johnny’s shoulders.

He sinks his teeth into LaRusso’s skin, into the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. LaRusso moans, and a growl rips its way out of Johnny’s throat to vibrate across his skin.

One hand goes to the nape of LaRusso's neck, the other underneath his thigh as he bends slightly to hoist him up. LaRusso wraps those skinny legs around his waist and Johnny lifts, pressing their hips together and moving them both around the corner so they can't be seen from the aisle.

He doesn’t pause his ministrations, content to suck and lick at LaRusso’s skin and bask in the sensory overload. The skin under his lips, the hands around his neck, in his hair, LaRusso's frantic breaths and the hard line of his dick pressing against Johnny’s own. 

Last August Johnny and Ali didn’t speak for a week, when he bailed on their date plans to go to a ZZ Top concert with the Cobras. After days of apologising, Ali relented and Johnny finally understood what the big deal was about make-up sex. Even though the two became well acquainted with make-up sex before Ali finally called it a day, it was never as good as that first time. 

He remembers the weird anticipation, like they were being held back by threads made of steel, and the way the dam broke with a kiss. The hurricane of lust that followed is like a breeze compared to how Johnny feels now. He can’t get enough of this. 

He leans forward, presses LaRusso against the bank of lockers behind him and plants his feet, keeping his leverage enough that he can bring both hands to the boy’s hips, rocking them together. The pressure against his erection is half heaven, half hell. He goes to town on LaRusso’s neck like he’s a five-course meal. He could give him a hickey - the image crosses his mind like a whisper, LaRusso heading onto the mat marked up with angry red blotches - but all Johnny knows is  _ taste _ . All he knows is  _ more _ . 

LaRusso has been downright mute during this encounter so far, and through his lust Johnny feels a smug satisfaction that he has finally,  _ finally _ , quietened that quick tongue. It's as if LaRusso is pouring every retort into his movements, grabbing at Johnny and grinding against him. 

The angle of the lift leaves a lot to LaRusso's upper body strength, and Johnny pauses to pull back and watch his abs tighten, how his skinny body locks into a hard line of muscle. He tries to put his mouth there too, but there are limits to how far his spine can curve so he returns his attention to the underside of LaRusso's jaw, licking and nipping his way up to behind his ear. It brings Johnny within proper reach of LaRusso's mouth for the first time, and his legs nearly give out when he feels lips against his throat. 

LaRusso - fast learner that he is - pulls the sleeve of Johnny's gi down to expose his shoulder, starts to mouth at the skin there, matching his frantic kisses, and it's too much. 

Johnny breaks off and tightens his grip on LaRusso's hip so hard his hand aches. One arm comes up to slam a fist into the locker beside LaRusso, and the boy jerks up, hands falling away from Johnny. LaRusso's pupils are so large they make his brown eyes look black, and through the daze of lust on his face there's a glimmer of fear.

It sends a tingle down Johnny's spine, and for a second he thinks his dick gets even harder. He's not going to hurt him, but the fact that he  _ could _ is, well.

He likes it.

He lowers him down as softly as he can, which is not very. Then one hand comes to LaRusso's face, cradling it gently, and he bends to place another kiss to the boy's neck. Before he can, LaRusso turns his head, and presses his lips to Johnny's. As he does, his hands return to their former position, cupping the back of Johnny's neck, fingers trailing through his hair. For a second, Johnny - the Johnny who is Cobra Kai to his bones - wants to reel away, he’s not  _ gay _ , then LaRusso’s tongue dips straight between Johnny's lips, he can taste him, and nothing else matters anymore.

His hand moves round to LaRusso's throat, holding it lightly, not choking him, just feeling the pulse fluttering under his thumb. His hand spans more than half the width around LaRusso's neck, and that shiver goes through him again. That reminder that he's so much bigger than LaRusso, that he could destroy him. That he can cover him completely, keep him trapped for as long as he wants. He pours everything into the kiss, every feeling of rage and desire and lust, crushing his mouth against LaRusso's like he's trying to swallow him whole. 

He pulls the pants of his gi down with his other hand, freeing his dick. He's so hard he thinks he's going to pass out, and when he grips himself it takes a considerable effort not to come right there and then.

A situation LaRusso is  _ not  _ helping with. Not at all bothered by the hand on his throat, the very hand that gave him a black eye not too long ago, he tugs Johnny closer, meeting his kisses with the same ferocity he's been showing ever since that day on the beach. 

He always has been willing to meet him halfway.

The pressure on Johnny's nape eases as LaRusso drops a hand to his own dick. He starts to stroke himself lightly inside his gi, each movement causing him to take soft, halting gasps against Johnny's lips.

Johnny's own hand begins to move, pumping roughly, sending wave after wave of pleasure across his nerve endings. He really isn't going to last very long, not with LaRusso stroking himself and moaning into his mouth like a slut.

He breaks off from the kiss and slides his hand down LaRusso's chest, marvelling at the smooth softness of his skin. He clamps a hand on his shoulder and applies some downward pressure, trying to use actions rather than words. LaRusso's eyes lock onto his, that familiar stubbornness spreading across his face, and Johnny smirks. He hooks an ankle around the other boy's calf. 

LaRusso has just enough time to splutter an indignant "What the fuck?" before Johnny sends him spilling to the floor. It's like every fight the two have had since September, except this time Johnny's hands are cushioning his fall, making his descent soft. He guesses that makes him a gentleman, even though what he does next makes him anything but. 

Before LaRusso can get up, Johnny drops to the floor too, knees on either side of the other boy's chest and his hips sitting flush against LaRusso's. This close, locked together like they are, LaRusso's hands are stranded above his waistline, grasping impotently at the fabric of Johnny's pants. Johnny feels LaRusso's trapped dick straining against the underside of his thigh and grinds down, smirks again at the frustrated look on the other boy's face.

He grips his dick again and takes up a punishing pace. In this position, LaRusso is spread underneath him like a centerfold and the powerlessness of his position makes Johnny's mouth water. He bends, one hand slapping the floor beside LaRusso's head and clamps his mouth onto the other boy’s. LaRusso moans up into the kiss and Johnny swallows the sound only to answer with a moan of his own, pushing his tongue against LaRusso's. LaRusso's hands come up into Johnny's hair, pulling at it, and that's enough to send him over the edge and he's coming, spilling hot come over his fingers to cover LaRusso's chest. 

He hovers there for a moment, breathing hard, holding himself up over LaRusso like a shield. He lays a featherlight, almost apologetic, kiss on the boy's neck.

Johnny’s post-climax clarity hits him like a punch to the face. His violent lust blows away like tumbleweed. He feels awkward, and doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Before he knows what he's doing or why he's doing it Johnny has pushed himself back up to standing. He tucks his dick back into his pants. 

"No you don't, Lawrence," LaRusso says, and hits the back of Johnny's knee, sending him sprawling back to the floor. He lands heavily on his back and LaRusso is already moving, scrambling up Johnny's body. He straddles him, sitting high on Johnny's torso, pinning his upper arms to the floor with his knees. The angle makes his minimal weight count, keeping Johnny trapped, and now he's the centerfold.

"You're such a fucking caveman," LaRusso growls. He pulls a towel from a nearby bench and wipes his chest, wrinkling his nose at the sensation. Johnny watches him clean himself off, feeling strangely relaxed. LaRusso can wipe himself all he wants; Johnny will never forget the image of his come-spattered chest. 

That image. It brings a grin to his face, and despite his weak position Johnny feels like a giant. Feels like he's still in control.

"You're damn right, LaRusso," he laughs, showing his teeth. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

LaRusso looks down at him, dark eyes thoughtful, and a smile plays around the corner of his mouth. He reaches down and pulls out his dick.

"I think," he says, stroking himself, "I'm gonna return the favour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZZ Top actually played in LA in June 1983, but that would have made Johnny 15 so... ick.


	4. Chapter 4

LaRusso maintains eye contact while he jerks himself off, and it's like an echo of every encounter they've ever had. Every moment when Johnny has looked across a room into his insolent brown eyes, every moment when his stomach has twisted at the sight of LaRusso.

There's a voice in his head - it sounds like Kreese - telling him to flip the boy off, to roll him onto the floor and beat the shit out of him. But right now, even though he's lying on a disgusting locker room floor while his - whatever - jerks off to him, Johnny feels quietly content. He's got LaRusso right where he wants him.

LaRusso's eyelids start to droop, and his rhythm stutters. His lips part as he thrusts up into his own fist, and Johnny is transfixed. When LaRusso's eyes close, shutting Johnny out, he can't stop himself.

It takes considerable effort to free an arm, but he manages it. The sudden movement nearly throws LaRusso off his rhythm. He stops jerking off, eyes flying open in surprise as if he expects to be thrown to the side.

Johnny reaches up to grip LaRusso's throat, hand feeling impossibly large against the boy's neck. He raises his eyebrows and nods up at him, indicating for him to continue. LaRusso's eyes flutter closed again in pleasure and he resumes his stroking, moaning louder and louder with each pass.

"Open your eyes," Johnny tells him, and LaRusso obeys. "Look at me."

"You fucking love it, don't you," LaRusso murmurs, eyes locked on his. "You can't get enough of me."

The sick thing is that he can't. The amount of times in the past three months that he's been told to leave LaRusso alone, and every time it happens Johnny can't help himself. He's drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and now that he knows what LaRusso tastes like he's not sure he'll ever be able to leave him alone. Johnny hums, tightens his grip ever so slightly, and LaRusso moans, bucking forward. 

"Bet you've been dreaming about me like this, haven't you, Johnny," His hips roll forward lazily, and Johnny wishes his other arm wasn't pinned down. He can practically feel LaRusso's hip in his hand, imagines rutting up against him. Its not that he can't free his other arm; both of them know that Johnny chooses to stay pinned, that he's letting LaRusso do what he's doing.

That's part of the fun.

LaRusso’s voice is almost a whisper, the voice of someone hypnotised: “I’ve sure as fuck dreamed about you.”

And just like that, Johnny is hard again.

"What are you gonna do, LaRusso?" He keeps his voice low and squeezes the other boy’s throat gently, loving the way his face goes slack with pleasure. "Are you gonna come?"

LaRusso nods, practically delirious in his ecstasy, and his hand comes up to wrap around Johnny's wrist. His grip is like a vice, and he pushes Johnny's hand even more firmly against his neck. Carefully - Johnny doesn't want to kill the guy, he's enjoying himself too much - he increases the pressure around LaRusso's throat, stomach flipping at the expression of mindless bliss on his face.

_What if I like it too?_

"Then do it," Johnny says, "Come for me, Daniel."

LaRusso screws his eyes shut, spits out a curse, and then his come is splashing hot lines across Johnny's neck. Johnny holds him through it, propping him up with his outstretched arm. He watches, mesmerized, as LaRusso strokes himself all the way through his orgasm, eking out every last drop of pleasure. Finally, he groans, and goes limp against Johnny’s hand. Johnny leaves his arm outstretched but releases the pressure in his grip, and LaRusso lets out a deep, shuddering sigh.

When LaRusso's eyes open to meet his Johnny knows he's gonna make a smartass comment before he even says:

“You look awfully pleased with yourself for someone with jizz all over him.”

“Says you,” Johnny replies. It’s not his best response, and he gives LaRusso’s throat one last squeeze just so he knows who’s really in charge here before releasing him. LaRusso gets off him, reaches for the towel again and uses it to wipe his dick and hand clean before tossing it to Johnny. He starts to fumble with his gi again as if all of this was just a minor distraction. 

Johnny raises up to sitting position, trying to feel by sensation where he needs to clean himself off. It's a strangely familiar feeling. He’s definitely had some self-love sessions where things have gotten messier than expected, so he’s not averse to a bit of guess-cleaning.

When he thinks he’s wiped all the come off - ignoring the drop that he can feel in his hair, no point trying to get that out - he throws the towel aside. He hopes none got on his gi, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. Because he’s just gotten laid - sorta - Johnny feels like a goddamn superhero, so he thinks he’s only showing off a little when he rolls back onto his shoulder blades and then flips himself up onto his feet. 

“Nice move,” LaRusso scowls, and Johnny smirks. Still meeting him halfway. 

“I’m full of nice moves, LaRusso,” he says as he crowds into LaRusso’s space again. The warning look he gets is layered, to say the least. He’s not sure if LaRusso is going to kiss him or clock him one. 

Johnny brushes LaRusso’s hands aside, replacing them with his own. He bends forward so his mouth is an inch from LaRusso’s ear, not letting go of the gi.

“You’ll see them out on the mat,” he says, and snaps his teeth together with a _click_. LaRusso shudders ever so slightly at the sound, and Johnny has to restrain himself from trying to goad him into round two.

But the tournament is starting.

Without looking down at what he’s doing Johnny pulls LaRusso's gi closed. Ties the ties. Covers up his chest. He dips down and presses his mouth against the side of LaRusso’s neck. It's barely a kiss. 

Just a taste to keep him going.

He pulls away with a - _pop!_ \- and heads off to the arena without looking back. He picks up his headband and begins to tie it around his forehead, feeling a spot of moisture on his neck where LaRusso's come is drying into a lock of his hair.

The tournament is starting.

And Johnny is still the champion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the moves used in this fic I've lifted directly from the final fight in TKK, namely the jab to the back of the knee and Johnny's flip up from the floor.
> 
> The image of Billy Zabka flipping his whole body up to standing haunts my every waking moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at ted-imgoingmad. Come say hi and join me in my Cobra Kai/TKK/Johnny Lawrence hyperfixation.


End file.
